


Caelum Bellatorum

by wentzchesters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, M/M, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 22:13:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wentzchesters/pseuds/wentzchesters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester finds himself sucked into a secret side life of drug dealing in order to put his beloved brother, Sam, through medical school. Sam, who thinks that Dean is working as a mechanic and regularly hits it big playing poker, is studying to become a doctor. He expresses a huge talent for it, and, of course, plans to pay his big brother back once he graduates. Life goes on rather tumultuously for Dean, until the angel Castiel appears to ask him for his assistance in fighting off Lucifer (since Dean is a skillful, witty, and effective hunter who just may be fated for the task) and his army of monsters. As the oncoming apocalypse nears, and new threats arrive, Sam is recruited by the angels to help find a cure for a mysterious virus that is rapidly spreading among the American public. Meanwhile, a deep, unique, and questionably erotic relationship blooms between Dean and his new angel friend. As time runs thin, the two brothers and their trusty impala (along with family/friends, Bobby, Garth, Ellen, and Jo) find themselves fighting on the front lines of an explosive war between heaven and hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caelum Bellatorum

The crisp, cool barrel of the shotgun gleamed in the light of the midnight moon. A slight gasp left his mouth following an expression akin to the the electric giddiness of a young child. He let his fingers glide over the polished metal, which quickly warmed under his hot skin. He hadn’t touched a gun like this since he lost his own - given to him by his father, which had been passed to him by his father - sank somewhere along a river bank in western Kansas several summers ago after a particularly rough hunt. Holding this new gun felt oddly like home to him, though his own had had a noticeable chip in the stock, which he had vaguely liked; it gave it character. He was anxious, and eager, and nervous to be back on the job “full time,” so to speak.

 

“Dean, we need you to be-”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” he cut Castiel off, shooting him a sly and somewhat apologetic smile before adding “I used to do this practically every day, remember?”

 

“I remember,” Cas added curtly, although he didn’t. They had only just met a few days ago, and even though he had heard many stories of Dean Winchester’s triumphant hunting career, technically, he had no actual memories of those events. “We just want to be sure that you’re prepared. This is no ordinary hunt.”

 

Dean nodded silently. He remembered that although he generally enjoyed this job, it came with some serious, and even deadly, consequences. All of his previous excitement and nostalgia dissolved into what he wouldn’t allow himself to accept as fear. Castiel was right. This wasn’t just a hunt; this was much larger than that. But Dean was a warrior, so all he said was “I’m ready, Cas,” before he emotionlessly loaded his gun and snapped it back together with a sharp flick of his wrist.

 

“I don’t know why you insist on calling me that.”

 

With a smirk, but no retort, Dean pushed past the angel, Castiel, and headed for the front door of the little cabin Dean had called home. Ever since Sam left for college, Dean didn’t need a big, fancy living space; still, he made sure that Sam had a room of his own to stay in in case he ever decided to come visit. But now, as Dean headed into the measly cottage, and tripped over his lumped up sleeping bag on his old mattress in front of the tv, it seemed silly that he had focused solely on taking care of Sam for so long that he had neglected to buy himself a proper bed. _Maybe I should buy one once all of this is over_ , he thought to himself. After all, it had been because of Sam’s dream of becoming a doctor that Dean had practically abandoned hunting in the first place - aside from the necessary hunts here and there that he just couldn’t seem to stay away from - and subsequently abandoned the family home.

 

It’d felt wrong to live there alone, anyway. The walls there seemed to mock him for his new “career.” It felt almost as if his parents had become a part of the house after they’d passed, and they were watching him through the wallpaper as he became less and less of the son he knew they had hoped for. _But the bills had to be paid_ , he silently reassured himself, _and pool and poker hustling just didn’t cut it_.

    

A blinding flash seemed to strike and cease all at once, like lightning. Dean had learned that this signified the entrance of an angel without a vessel. He was also told by Castiel that any human who witnessed this would go blind, which, Cas said, is yet another reason why Dean was so unique to other humans; another reason why he is so crucial to their plot.

    

Instantaneously, Dean found himself in an unfamiliar place. _Son of a bitch_ , Dean thought, _these friggin’ angels need to quit teleporting me everywhere like I’m some kinda Back to the Future boy toy_ -

 

Before he could finish his thought and fully reorient himself, Castiel grabbed his arm from behind.

 

“Dean, it’s time.”

* * *

 

 

**3 DAYS PRIOR**

 

A warm, comfortable feeling filled Dean - which was a rare occurrence for him these days - as he settled down on his beat up sofa. For once, he had a moment to escape his mess of a life, thanks to his second-in-command, Gil, offering to “finish up” for him at “the office.”

 

Just as he began to drift off into a surely broken and tumultuous night’s rest, he heard a shuffle travel along the side of the little house, through the gravel, up the front path, and onto the front step. Dean subconsciously clutched his .45, which was never more than an arm’s length away from him.

 

“Hey, Boss,” came loudly from the opposite side of the front door. Dean knew who it was, but brought his Colt with him anyway as he stumbled over to answer, smoothing his hair with his other hand as he went.

 

“Gil,” Dean said as he unlatched the third deadbolt and let him in, “what’s up?”

 

“Well,” he hesitated, refusing to meet his eyes with Dean’s greens, “remember how I said I’d finish up?”

 

“Yeah?” Dean cleared his throat.

 

“Well, I kind of, um, _we_ kind of…” he stuttered, scratching at his chubby, bald head with his plump fingers.

 

Dean motioned with the hand that was still occupied by the gun, as if telling him to hurry up, “damn it, Gil, spit it out!”

 

“He got away,” he looked Dean dead in the eyes briefly, then shuffled slightly backwards.

 

“Son of a bitch, Gil! Are you kidding me? You know he’s gonna come back for us, he’s gonna fucking try and… I…” he trailed off, clenching his jaw, “I can’t believe you fucked that up. It should have been straight forward.” He stepped toward Gil, softening only slightly before saying “I guess we’d better go after him, then. Get to him before he gets to us with God knows how many of his meth-head friends.”

 

“I can do it, Boss. Otto and I -”

 

“No,” Dean snapped, “I’ll just do it.”

 

“Well, uh, okay, Boss…” Gil turned slightly, scratching now at one of his overly-inked arms with the other one, preparing to walk away, “I guess I’ll just, uh..”

 

“Na-huh,” Dean stepped toward him even further, “don’t even think about it, Buddy, you’re comin’ with me.”

 

* * *

 

 

Back when Dean used to hunt full time, he found it fulfilling - although often lonely, since he typically encouraged Sam to stay behind and study. He was helping people, often saving more than one life.

 

He was a hero by most people’s standards, although not his own.

 

But with the new path he’d taken in order to help pay for Sam’s medical school (and hopefully stash away some sort of life savings while he was at it) his job had nearly as much risk, but far fewer perks; dealing with felons and crazed drug addicts on a daily basis was exhausting, sketchy, and held no honor. Hunting, however, kept him in shape, and helping people often landed him a free meal, a small amount of cash, an open couch offering (which he always declined), and, on occasion, sex.

 

And when Sam did occasionally decide to go along, Dean was about as happy as a hunter could ever be. Just Dean and Sam and the open road, albeit the road was paved with monsters and things that would keep most people up at night.

 

Whenever Dean went on a hunt alone, it felt empty. Obligatory. Even when he teamed up with Bobby, and sometimes Garth, it felt as though something were missing, and deep down, Dean knew it was because Sam wasn’t with him. But Dean would never pull Sam away from something he loved unless he had to.

 

As Dean and Gil approached Dean’s car - his 1967 Chevy Impala, a car he’d rebuilt from the ground up on multiple occasions, his pride and joy - Dean’s mood lifted minutely. He ran two fingers along its shiny black hood as he rounded his way to the driver’s side. Absently, Gil tugged at the locked passenger door.

 

“Here,” Dean tossed him the key, “be nice to Baby.”

 

Gil rolled his eyes and looked to see if Dean had noticed. He tossed the key back to Dean as he slid into the seat, nearly hitting his head on the way in.

  
Dean smirked a little as he started the car and Metallica’s “Am I Evil?” filled the air between them.

 


End file.
